


Angels Don't Do Whips And Chains

by shinigami_yumi



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, Dubious Mythology, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Groping, Language, M/M, Roleplay, Soul-fisting, Spanking, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinigami_yumi/pseuds/shinigami_yumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An anon on the <a href="http://sastiel-bigbang.livejournal.com/2953.html">Sastiel & Mishalecki Fic/Art Meme</a> asked for the following prompt:<br/>"You know how when Jared gave interviews in s7 about how Sam felt about Castiel, he tended to put a lot of emphasis on Castiel's hostility to Sam, grounded in Ruby and demon blood and such, in ways that didn't really correspond to how Sam and Castiel interacted onscreen? Turns out the reason was that Jared has some fantasies about demon-tainted Sam being sexily punished by a smitey angel. At some point he gets drunk and talks about this to Misha, and he and Misha act out a few extra scenes of their own."</p><p>This is my fill, and that's pretty much exactly what happens:<br/>Jared and Misha have been together for a while, and they head to a bar after one of Jared's interviews. An indeterminate number of tequila shots later, Jared confesses his fantasy of Sam being punished by Castiel, and Misha decides a little overtime is in order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angels Don't Do Whips And Chains

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry if this didn't turn out exactly as you wanted, OP, but I tried my best, and I hope you like it. Much thanks goes to [Meinarch](http://sassypancakes.tumblr.com) for the beta as always.
> 
> For the purposes of this fic, Jared and Misha have kinda been together for a while, so just pretend real life never happened for a bit.

Misha has lost count of the tequila shots, and that’s never a good sign. Roughly an hour ago, he was supposed to be keeping track, so they could actually make it back to the set before passing out, but then Jared started talking animatedly and getting all handsy, and that’s plenty distracting without any booze, so maybe this is round seven or maybe it’s round thirteen or m— Fuck it. Jared’s slurring a little and red in the face already, so they’re just not ordering any more, however many rounds it’s been. When Jared predictably raises his hand for more, Misha signals for their tab instead. Jared doesn’t even notice; he’s still talking about the interview earlier.

“And what was that interview even about?” Misha says with a laugh. “C’mon, man, Cas loves Sam.”

Jared giggles, licking the salt off his wrist before drinking the last shot, and all Misha can think of is how much he wants to retrace the path of Jared's tongue with his own. "Yeah, but in Sam's mind... Okay, so maybe I was projecting a little."

"What, Cas being hostile to you?"

In the dim light, sweat glistens on Jared’s golden tan, and Misha can’t help the way his eyes follow a bead down, down, down till it disappears into that large plaid shirt and lick his dry lips.

"Sam.” Jared leans forward till their faces are mere inches apart. “To Sam."

And he doesn’t smell bad at all. Well, okay, sometimes. Sometimes, he smells like his dogs, and that’s pretty unappealing. Misha loves Harley and Sadie too, but not Jared smelling like them.

"No, no, not Sam.” Misha wags his finger in the other’s face. “Cas was never particularly hostile to Sam."

"But don't you think that, maybe at the beginning when Cas was still more like the rest of the angels, he'd want to _punish_ Sam for all that demon blood business?"

He slides down to lean back in his booth seat, knees sliding between Misha’s. Now, _now_ Jared just smells like booze and summer. Their waitress comes with the bill, which Misha pays, and leaves. Jared splays both their legs, and they really need to leave right now because Jared’s clearly in the mood to put on a show, and if he does, they’ll never get to leave.

Misha manoeuvres himself out of the booth. "Wait, wait. So which part of this was you projecting?" he asks, helping Jared up. "C'mon, up, let’s go."

Still giggling, Jared obligingly stands up to lean heavily on him. "Punishment." The teasing emphasis he puts on the word is noticeable now where it wasn’t the first time. He squeezes Misha’s waist with his arm, pulling the smaller man up against his side. “It comes in _many_ forms.”

The last comes out in a slurred drawl as fingers trail enticingly along the waistband of Misha’s jeans, and even though Misha really should have learned his lesson about enabling Jared by now, he still asks, “And which form were you thinking of?” as they step out of the bar into the crisp night air.

Between more giggles, Jared manages, “The whips and chains form~” as he falls into the car where Clif is waiting to drive them back to set.

“I think you’re getting Cas confused with Ruby,” Misha replies with a grin as he climbs in beside Jared. That doesn’t mean he can’t get with this idea though. He still thinks it’s a shame they never shoot scenes of Sam and Cas having sex. Or Cas and Dean having sex. Or Sam and Dean having sex, but oh, that would be naughty and incestuous. Still, why only straight sex scenes? All the hot men, and none of them bang each other on screen? What a waste.

“Oh, he’d be _so_ mad about Ruby too,” Jared says, pulling him closer. “Something about there being a special place in Hell for people who fornicate with demons and all that.” He presses a kiss to the corner of Misha’s mouth. “What’s the angelic version of whips and chains anyway?”

“He’s been on tequila again, hasn’t he?” Clif asks from the front.

Now it’s Misha’s turn to giggle, and it’s not all Clif’s fault because Jared’s hands are on his balls again, and when that doesn’t turn him on, it reduces him to a giggling schoolgirl — it’s a little bit of both here. He’s still wondering why no one’s thrown either one of them out yet for how many times they’ve ruined twenty takes just like this.

“Yup~”

“Shit. Not you too.”

Jared’s practically giving him a handjob through his jeans right now, so he has to tear the other’s hands away before they can’t stop. Giant monster can’t even wait fifteen minutes, damn it. Jared retaliates by sliding his hands into his jeans to grab his ass and hauling him up so he can whisper in his ear.

“What’s the angelic version of whips and chains, Cas?” he repeats softly in the less cheery tone he uses for Sam.

Misha shivers as Jared’s lips ghost over his ear, and it takes far too much concentration to pitch his voice lower to answer, “We tend to skip right to Noah’s Ark and Sodom and Gomorrah.” It’s Jared’s turn to shiver beneath him, but fortunately, they’ve reached Jared’s trailer, so he disentangles himself and opens the door. “Come on, you monster,” he beckons in his normal voice and crooks his finger.

Jared grins, clumsily sliding off the seat and staggering into Misha’s arms, and barely manages to close the car door without hurting himself. He leans down to trail kisses up Misha’s jaw, nibble at Misha’s left earlobe, run his tongue along the double piercings. He breathes deeply there, leaves a mark in the tender spot behind the ear as he backs Misha into the wall of his trailer and murmurs, “I want your fire, your brimstone and your purity...”

Misha snorts and dissolves into hysterical laughter at the thought of directing an episode of Sam writing bad poetry. To Dean. “Oh my God,” he gasps. “Sam would never say that to Cas. Not until I’m director, at least. Oh, now that’s an idea.”

Jared smirks, fumbling with his keys to open the door of his trailer. “Cas should visit when Sam’s drunk. Or high. He’ll see.”

And oh, Misha suddenly does want to see. He’s increasingly liking the sound of Jared’s fantasy. Jared finally gets the door open and half carries Misha up the stairs, but then he’s stumbling haphazardly inside. Harley and Sadie only look up blearily from where they’re lying on the floor and promptly go back to sleep. Misha pulls Jared to the bed, and they fall onto it side by side. Jared slides a leg between his to finally kiss him, and it gets him every time — the tequila, the salt and the lime, the way Jared kisses like there’s nothing and no one else in the world. And one day, he’ll have to set the record straight: Jared doesn’t really go straight for the tonsils — “tonsils” was just the best allegory for the truth; Jared doesn’t even kiss him nearly as much on the mouth as everywhere else, but by no means is he complaining.

They roll over, so he’s lying atop the taller man, and he twines his fingers in long brown hair. In the dim light, Jared’s eyes twinkle green, then they go all sad and desperate. “I have too many sins, Cas. Do you think a confession’s enough?”

And okay, time out, hold that thought. Misha slides off and pulls away, slapping Jared playfully on the thigh. “Sleep it off, Goliath. I’ll be back.” He pecks his lover on the cheek and slips away.

~*~

Jared blinks the sleep out of his eyes when he hears footsteps in his trailer. “Misha? Is that you?” He thought Misha left a while back, unsatisfied no less, and he’d be planning vengeance if he didn’t currently have a bit of a headache to deal with.

“Hello, Sam.”

He sits up. The Castiel voice, it always does _things_ to him, not that he’d admit it and not that Misha isn’t hot to start with. That’s how they even ended up here — a few pranks, some drunken kisses (oh, it was tequila the first time too), and then, suddenly, the pranks ended in his trailer with him pressed up against the wall or on the bed or couch inside Misha, and that’s probably ruined him for life now. Oh God, Misha went to “borrow” Castiel’s clothes from the costume department, and his blue eyes are shining in the light reflected from outside the trailer windows. He hides a smile and slips into character; it’s easy after all these years — if Misha wants to act out his fantasy, he’s definitely playing along.

“Cas.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Dean’s not here.”

“I am aware.” Castiel steps closer. “You rarely return so late, Sam. Where were you?”

What is this, a season four outtake? He can work with that. He turns away, moves to stand up. “I thought you know all about my ‘extracurricular activities,’ Cas. Why bother asking?”

Cas lays a hand on his shoulder to stop him, hold him down. “I thought you stopped. Tell me, Sam, why did you resume?”

“Because it works,” he says, standing up in his frustration. Castiel doesn’t stop him. No one understands, not even Dean. There’s Ruby, but of course she does — it’s her idea; she doesn’t count. “Because it lets me save people, Cas. When I do this, the vessel survives. No one has to die if I just...”

“And the fornication?”

“What?” He turns to face the angel in shock. “A—Are you stalking me? What does that even have to do with anything?”

“Plenty, Sam.” Cas backs him into the wall, closes a hand over his throat to look intensely into his eyes. “Do you know what the punishment is for the sin of lust in the second circle of Hell?”

He offers the other a sardonic smile. “I’m told I should ask Dean if I want brimstone stories. Or is that another one of Uriel’s lies?”

Castiel flinches at the mention of the dead traitor, and for a moment, he seems so sad as he lets his hand drop to Sam’s waist and leans in closer. Sam is about to apologize, but then Cas says, “Unfortunately, your brother skipped straight to Alastair, so he wouldn’t know about the endless storms. It symbolizes how lust makes you lose direction, Sam. You’ve lost your way. You don’t even realize how far astray.”

Fuck, Misha even did his research before coming back. “Yeah?” He pushes past to move back towards the bed. “Well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that I don’t like your way. Over twenty years of praying every night for the biggest disappointment of my life, you have no idea.”

The other catches him by the arm. “I tell you this for your own good, Sam.”

He shakes free. “Sorry, but I have a hard time believing that someone who’d smite an entire town without hesitation would care about an ‘abomination’ like me.”

In a quick motion, Cas grabs both of Sam’s hands and shoves forward, and Misha’s strong, but Jared’s a giant who works out often and can pick him up with one arm, so every time they do something like this on screen, Jared has to let him for the illusion of angelic super strength. And even though this should have taken Jared by surprise, Jared _lets him,_ allows himself to be planted face down on the bed and manhandled, and god damn is it hot.

He pulls off his belt and wraps it around the other’s wrists, pulls it tight through the buckle at the end. “I told Dean that if he didn’t stop you, I will, Sam.”

Sam turns to snarl at him over his shoulder. “You really think that will hold me?”

“No.” He presses the palm of his hand flat against Sam’s back between the shoulderblades and pushes, and oh God, Jared lets him. “I will.”

Castiel presses Sam into the mattress, and the hunter huffs in a mix of incredulous defiance and helpless frustration. “You can’t even hold your own devil’s trap,” he retorts.

The angel lifts his arms to a painful angle, and Sam makes a soft sound of pain. “I never thought I’d have to worry about your attitude, Sam,” Cas murmurs reproachfully, leaning in to rest his forehead on the back of the human’s neck. Sam shivers beneath him as his hand trails a caress down to rest on a lean waist. More softly, more disappointed, "I was struck by your faith, by your reverence.”

“C—Cas?” Jared kicked off all his clothes to sleep only in a pair dark green boxers, leaving most of his well-toned body deliciously bare.

He sits up on his knees between muscular thighs and delivers a sharp spank to the other’s bottom.

“Cas!” Sam snaps, flinching as he turns again. “What—”

He tilts his head quizzically. “I’ve seen people punish their children like this.” He repeats the motion thrice, with slight variations each time as if testing it out, and Sam hisses. He looks up. “Is it inappropriate?”

“What do you think? I’m not a child, Cas; what’s gotten into you?”

He levels a patient look at the hunter. “To us, you are all children, Sam Winchester. There are thousands of years between us, and yet..." He shakes his head as if to clear it. "I was ordered to watch you, to keep you in line, but it’s difficult when I don't understand your motivations. Perhaps if I..." He lays his palm on Sam's back again. "I did not want to do this. It is painful and dangerous. But consider it your punishment, Sam."

He presses in, and Sam screams, muffling it with a pillow. He's barely exerted any strength, but Jared tenses and arches his back just like he did in that scene in season six, hands clenching tightly into fists, and Misha can't believe he ever forgot how sexy it was. Fuck, he wants... He withdraws, and Jared— no, Sam sags into the bed, panting as if exhausted. As if he’d really touched his soul. So beautiful, so tainted.

"What have you done?" he whispers, shifting to straddle Sam's hips so he can bury his face in Sam's hair. "She came to you in your solitude, and you believed her lies."

He wants to see it again. He presses his body flush to Jared's, lets his lover feel how much he wants this, wants _him,_ and the other moans.

"May Father reveal how to safeguard you from darkness." He presses his hand into Sam's back once more, and the man screams again, skin damp with sweat from the strain. He stays for several moments before letting go to push Sam's boxers out of the way. "The way she seduced you — if I do the same, will you listen to me too?"

"C—Cas?" Sam gasps, panic clear in his voice.

Cas thumbs at his entrance, and he whimpers helplessly.

"You want this," the angel muses. "She does not give this to you."

A finger breaches him, just a little, and he cries out with need. It's been so long, so long since...

"You seek redemption, Sam. Will you do penance?"

"Yes." It sounds like a desperate plea. "Yes." He's begging.

"Then kneel." Cas pulls him from the bed by his bound arms, and he doesn't try to fight it. "Kneel and pray for forgiveness."

So he does — kneeling facing the bed, watching Castiel out of the corner of his eye. The other picks up one of the candles left on the table from last week when he’d decided that they should have a candlelit dinner even if Misha was just ordering delivery in his trailer. They’d snuggled on the couch with burgers and salads and just talked, and it was perfect. Sometimes, he wonders if Misha would want to put a name to this thing they have going that people just pretend not to know about, if he can really have his attractive and amazing coworker all to himself always. Misha lights the red candle, and Jared feels his insides clench with desire at the mere thought of what’s coming.

“Only you can purify your heart, Sam,” Misha says in that deep, sexy voice he uses for Castiel, and Jared has to bite back a moan. “But there’s an Enochian ritual of cleansing. If performed with sincere repentance and faith in your heart, the pain will burn away the taint of evil upon you.” Cas pushes him forward lightly, and he lets himself fall so his head rests on the bed with his body at an angle. “Will you accept this punishment, Sam? Will you purify yourself?”

“Yes.” His voice is muffled by the sheets. “Please.”

“Keep praying,” Castiel commands.

He winces as the first drops of wax hit his back.

“Only God can protect and forgive us, and we invoke His name in all that we do.”

But then every hot sting becomes a twinge that goes straight down, and he feels precum leak from his painfully hard cock, then a cold gel —lube— is being smeared on his entrance, and he nearly comes from just that. “Cas,” he gasps. Just a little more. “Ah, Castiel...” Misha is drawing random Enochian on his back in wax while fingering him open, and it's hot, then cold, and oh God, he’s going to come untouched before Misha’s even inside him.

Fuck, but he wants Misha inside him.

They’re up to three fingers now and the fifth Enochian sigil, and he’s sobbing _Castiel_ and _please_ — he’s so fucking _close,_ and then it’s gone.

Misha just _stops._

Damn him and this fucking roleplay, but it was his idea, so Jared is going to stick with it. He lifts his head. “Cas?”

Behind him, Castiel whispers an incantation before untying his arms. “Lie on the bed, Sam,” he instructs. “I need to draw some sigils on your chest as well. I trust you will not resist.”

He hurries to comply, and the angel kneels between his legs again, nudging his thighs apart and leaning over him to drip some wax along his collarbone. Their eyes meet, and he can't look away. Castiel or Misha, Sam or Jared — those blue eyes always drown his soul, and there's such a _hunger_ in them now.

He longs to give his lover everything.

He bites his lip as hot wax dribbles over a nipple, and Castiel's tongue flicks out to moisten dry lips. "Do you surrender to the will of Heaven, Sam?" comes in a hoarse whisper as wax covers his other nipple.

 _Yes, God, yes._ If Castiel were the devil, he thinks, the Apocalypse would be long over. "Take me, Cas."

The angel smiles, just a little — _his_ angel; he was lost from the first time he'd placed his hand in those gentle ones, from the first time he'd woken up next to Misha one morning and never wanted to leave their bed. He thinks of Harley and Sadie running around their house that Misha would build himself, and it's like some hopeless romantic's perfect fantasy, only with Misha, everything seems filled with hope and possibility.

"Swear it," Cas says, pulling back to leave a trail of wax down his torso, and he does, without hesitation. Oh God, if any wax gets on his cock, he won't be able to hold back, but Cas stops barely an inch away and whispers another incantation before blowing out the candle. "Show me, Sam. Show me how she ensnared your heart."

The words are barely out of Castiel's mouth when he grabs that inside-out tie and pulls the angel to him in a crushing kiss to finally, _finally_ touch. The candle falls carelessly to the floor, and if they start a goddamn fire like this, he probably won’t even notice till it’s over. Misha moans as he pushes the coat out of the way, and it's definitely Misha who likes being kissed, who tastes of the supposedly energizing organic orange, rosehip and ginger tea he drinks every morning. Castiel, by now, likes coffee and, if anything, just being held from behind. They've talked about this, brainstormed little things about their characters together, usually with Misha in his lap reading the next episode's script and munching on caramel apples — the happy medium they've found between candy and fresh produce.

Christ, he needs Misha inside him right the fuck now, and he can't get that damnable costume off fast enough. Fingers twine in his hair as he mouths at every inch of exposed skin, and Misha’s moaning his name — _names_ — like a prayer, and if angels prayed within his hearing, he’s sure it’d sound just like this.

They both gasp when they’re finally joined, and “move, just move,” he’s not going to get any readier than this. It only takes several thrusts before the pleasure crashes white-hot over him, and there are probably going to be bruises the shape of his fingers on Misha’s hips in the morning, but he’ll kiss them all better.

Misha doesn’t even care, just fucks him through his orgasm and trails kisses up his jaw. “Jared,” he breathes. “JT.”

And he catches Misha’s lips in his own, puts all his love and gratitude into it, and it’s utterly gratifying when Misha’s hips stutter as the other cries out into the kiss and comes hot and wet inside him.

Shit.

They forgot.

But hell, it’s _Misha._ It’s never going to matter any less than this.

Misha moves to pull away, places his hand on the bed beside Jared’s head to push himself up, and in a spur of the moment, Jared covers that hand with his own, laces their fingers together and pulls it to press the other’s knuckles to his lips.

“Stay,” he says, locking olive eyes with blue, and the way those eyes soften as warm fingers curl tightly over his own means everything all at once — it’s more elation than the stars he saw sixty seconds ago.

“Thought you were never going to ask,” Misha mumbles sleepily, flopping down gracelessly to bury his face in Jared’s neck, and if the costume department can’t find Castiel’s outfit tomorrow, well, that’s just fucking perfect because he doesn’t really want to work tomorrow anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. Do share your thoughts! I love hearing feedback. <3


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